


Betwixt Heaven and Earth

by PicaBritanica



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, F/M, Post-Barricade, other characters will be added as they appear - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-03-22 12:32:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3729052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PicaBritanica/pseuds/PicaBritanica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the barricades fall, Enjolras finds himself at the mercy of a world he had thought was at an end. Surviving in this world becomes all the more difficult with the revelation that his saving grace, Vanessa lost someone at his command. For Vanessa, it becomes hard to hate the broken man who had once shined so brightly in the eyes of one she held dear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Pain of a Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Les Miserables. This was just written for fun.

A dark figure stood on the bridge overlooking the river, gazing down at the rushing water below. It occurred to him how easy it would be to just fall and leave it all behind. He had been born for progress, to lead France to a new world, a better world. This wasn't how it was supposed to end. The broken man had fully intended to die alongside his comrades on the barricade if the revolution failed. How had it come to this?

Sinking down to his knees, a sob escaped his lips as the rain began to fall. The tears cascaded down his cheeks without opposition for the first time since he was young. This wasn't how it was supposed to end. Leaning against the wall of the bridge, he pulled his knees up to his chest, burying his face in his arms as he cried. He hadn't felt this wretched in years. What had happened to the intrepid hero, the god who was going to light the way to a new tomorrow? His valiant friends deserved to be led to victory, not to their deaths. "I should have died with them." He muttered. Why hadn't he just died with them? A scream ripped from his throat "This wasn't how it was supposed to end!" he shouted to the heavens.

"Apollo?" a female voice asked quietly, dragging him from his self-loathing. Slowly, the wretched young man lifted his head to see a figure in a dark brown coat and equally dark brown hair that whipped around her face.

"Don't call me that," he whispered, that name more agonizing to him than all eight of the bullets that had ripped through his flesh that fateful night.

The girl knelt down in front of him. "Then what do I call you?"

"Enjolras," came the muted reply. He scrubbed his eyes with his fist. "You can call me Enjolras."

"It's nice to meet you monsieur Enjolras." The girl placed a hand gently on top of his and said "Shouldn't we be getting out of this rain, monsieur?" Enjolras shook his head and hid his face again. The girl sighed, "Come along Enjolras, we need to get you home."

"I don't have a home," Enjolras said, his voice devoid of all emotion. He looked up to see the girl staring straight at him with not a look of pity, but a soothing calm. "My mother has thrown me out; my landlord won't take me back. I have nowhere to go."

A dark fury seemed to pass over the woman's pale face, but before Enjolras was even sure he'd seen it, her features were a mask of calm once again. Rolling back onto her haunches, she looked Enjolras up and down with that cool and collected gaze once more. "Well then monsieur Enjolras. It looks like you're coming with me." She took his hand and stood up, forcing Enjolras to at least lean forward a little. Slowly, painfully, he struggled to his feet.

"Wait," Enjolras said, pulling away. "I don't even know your name."

"Vanessa," the girl said, smiling a little. "My name's Vanessa."

She turned away and began to walk across the bridge towards the less affluent parts of Paris, obviously expecting Enjolras to follow her without argument. Enjolras thought on his choices. In all honesty, there was only one. There was no returning to the life he had led prior to the barricades; he did not even have a sou to rent a room. He had to bite the bullet and follow this stranger; swallow his pride and accept her charity.

Vanessa got no further than the end of the bridge before she turned back and saw Enjolras trudging behind her, a small, reassuring smile graced her lips. No attempt was made from either party to strike up a conversation as they traversed Paris' dark streets in comfortable silence.

Vanessa's apartment was above a small café not far from the bridge, but it was still quite a trek and both were soaked when they finally reached it. "Excuse the mess monsieur; I don't often have guests up here," Vanessa called back as she left Enjolras in the doorway to her cluttered living room. She grabbed a match and lit a few candles, sending long shadows across the room.

Noticing his silence, she turned back to Enjolras, who was still stood aimlessly in the doorway. "You can come in you know," she laughed

In despair, there is denial. As he could not comprehend the failure of his life, he had hollowed into a trance, much like the interlude between sleep and waking. Her voice, however, managed to break such a stupor, and he finally stepped into the room, pensive and ashamed, closing the door behind him. "We'll need to get you out of those wet things before you catch pneumonia." Vanessa mused. She wandered away into what must have been a small bathroom and returned with a couple of towels and some spare clothes. Enjolras wondered briefly where she had gotten men's clothing from; it was pretty evident from the state of her flat that she lived alone.

It has been said that one's room reflects one's personality. If this is true, Vanessa's rooms certainly did just that. On a table just inside the doorway, papers were scattered and many had fallen to the floor, so that the entire area resembled the endless snow covered fields of the south in winter. Behind the table was a small kitchen area, with a sink piled high with crockery, most of which had rather ugly cracks or chips in them.

Hooked up next to the sink was an apron with a ragged hole down the left that was obviously in need of repair. Beside this, a stove that already had a pot of something bubbling on it. The smell of food made Enjolras' stomach groan, causing Vanessa to smile. Across the room was a small sofa with a pile of books on both sides, precariously balanced and about ready to collapse at any given moment. Across the sofa were strewn a multitude of smocks and rather worn looking dresses that had obviously seen a great deal of use and repair. In all, this was a room in disarray, and while that contrasted with the serene figure that was Vanessa, Enjolras was sure that beneath it all was a very interesting young woman.

His musings were interrupted, however, when Vanessa placed both the towels and the clothes in his arms. "Why are you doing this?" Enjolras asked, finally having found his voice.

"Because I'm a nice person, maybe?" Vanessa replied with a smirk. She turned away and stopped, seemingly transfixed upon the door in the corner of the room. "You can sleep in there if you like," she said eventually, pointing to the closed door. She suddenly looked away disgusted, as though she had been caught in some villainous act. She turned back to Enjolras and placed a small key on the top of the pile of clothes. "You'll need this to open it. Go get changed and then we can eat."

And with that she turned away again and headed into what was obviously her own bedroom, there were dresses strewn over the floor as far as Enjolras could see. Tentatively, he shifted the pile Vanessa had given him into one hand, unlocking the door with the key in his other. The door was slightly stiff but opened with a rough shove from Enjolras' shoulder.

The door opened to reveal the room of a young man. There were more men's clothes piled up neatly on the chair, books scattered across the desk and papers spilling over onto the floor. Enjolras stepped inside and shut the door behind him, placing the clothes on the bed. It came to his attention just how exhausted he was, he had stormed out just before the evening meal, and with the fact that he hadn't been sleeping, the bed and the food outside were fighting for his attention. Eventually his hunger won the war as his stomach growled once more. He sighed and shrugged off his waistcoat, quickly followed by his shirt, which clung to his skin like a second, ice cold skin. Even though it was summer, the rain and winds had brought an unwelcome chill to the air. He tried, with little success, to warm himself with the towel before pulling on the clean, white shirt. It was tailored to a stronger built person than Enjolras in his current state and almost swamped him, but it was warm and dry, so he didn't much mind. Next came the struggle of peeling off his soaked trousers, after a valiant fight he managed to free himself from their frozen grasp and wrapped a towel around his lower half.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked and tarnished mirror and almost jumped. The man looking back at him was a mere shadow of his former self. His face looked ashen and his once golden hair stuck to his forehead in dirty blonde strands. Beneath his eyes, huge dark smudges that wouldn't have looked out of place on a charcoal drawing.

Apollo had lost his light.

In an effort to distract himself, he turned and began pulling on the pants Vanessa had given him. They, like the shirt were much too big for him, only emphasising how thin he had become since the barricade had fallen. He had stopped eating, which left him gaunt and wasting away, to use his mother's term. Once fully dressed once more, he ran a hand through his wild blonde curls in an attempt to tame them and scrubbed at them with the towel, hoping to dry them off.

It became apparent that this task was futile, and so Enjolras decided to leave the room and seek out some food. He wandered out into the living area of the little flat. Vanessa was already at the stove, leaning against it as she pulled her dark brown hair up into a bun and tied it with a piece of string. She noticed Enjolras watching her and turned around, her eyes roaming down his body and taking in his appearance. He tugged at the trousers in an attempt to stop them from falling down past his hips and stared at the floor, thinking he must look like a child playing dress up with his father's clothes.

"Come take a seat," Vanessa said gently. "The soup shouldn't be too long now."

Enjolras did as he was bid and took a seat, but found himself lacking anything to say, and so resorted to tracing the grain of the wood on the table. Through his periphery he saw Vanessa ladle out two bowls of steaming soup and join him at the table. He glanced up at her as she placed a bowl in front of him. "You look like hell," Vanessa admitted. "Care to tell me how you came to be contemplating suicide on a bridge?" She held his gaze steadily, something not many women were able to do.

"I'd rather not talk about it," Enjolras replied. "I mean no offense but I don't know you at all."

Vanessa seemed surprised by this but said nothing, instead nodding and turning her attention to her soup. She said a quick prayer before breaking off a chunk of bread and began to eat, gesturing for Enjolras to do the same. Hoping he didn't look too pathetic, Enjolras quickly finished off the bowl. Somehow he managed to stop himself from asking for more. It was unusual that he could eat so much, but right now, without his stepfather glaring at him across the table, he found he was quite happy to eat.

It seemed Vanessa had picked up on this war inside Enjolras' mind and smiled. "Would you care for another bowl?" she asked innocently.

Enjolras caught her smile and found himself mirroring it. "I wouldn't mind." He shrugged almost nonchalantly. Vanessa picked up both bowls and refilled them before sliding his bowl back across to Enjolras. He accepted it with a nod and emptied the bowl with impossible speed. He glanced up a second time to find Vanessa watching him with a suddenly less amused expression, he felt an unusual embarrassment and felt the need to justify himself. "I haven't eaten in a while," he murmured apologetically.

His voice seemed to jolt his new acquaintance out of her dark mood and her smile instantly replaced her frown, "No need to justify yourself," she reassured him. "I work in the café downstairs, trust me, you eat like a king compared to the customers I deal with."

Enjolras frowned at the mention of royalty but said nothing on the matter, instead focusing on the woman sat in front of him. "So you're a barmaid?" he asked, raising his eyes to finally give a full appraisal of the woman who had been his guardian angel on the bridge.

She nodded. "I work evenings here, mornings at a café around the corner and do odd jobs where I can. I think if you can work to earn your way, you have a duty to."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "And what of those who are unable to work?" he asked, finding himself slipping into one of his political debates from long ago.

"If you were listening," Vanessa said slowly, "you would have noticed I used the word 'if': if you can work, you should. If not, then the government should pick up on its responsibility to the people and aid you. Then the fat cats at the top could stop complaining about crime because there would be less need for people to steal to survive."

Enjolras smiled; evidently he didn't need to convert this woman as he had so many before her. Vanessa was, it seemed, a readymade republican. "And what of those who refuse help?"

"Help should be free for all, regardless of whether they accept it or not. Our lord Jesus told us to love our neighbours. How can we possibly say we do so when we won't help them? It is up to them whether they accept, but if you do your half, there is no more anyone can ask of you." She shrugged.

"What about the government? Do you think they do what is required of them?" Enjolras asked, pushing to gain as much as he could from this woman who spoke as well as any of his lieutenants.

Without warning, Vanessa jolted away and her expression turned once again to a moment of fury hidden quickly behind a mask of serenity. "I think that is enough of that talk for tonight, monsieur. I shall retire now. I have an early shift in the morning; you are welcome to stay as long as you need." And with that, she lurched to her feet and cleared the table, throwing their bowls onto the mountain of dishes in the sink with frightening force. "There are clean night clothes in the dresser in the room," she said curtly, pointing again to the room on the far left. "Good night, Monsieur Enjolras."

Her door slammed behind her, leaving Enjolras dumbfounded at the table, unsure of what he'd done to receive such a reply. It wasn't often, even now, that Enjolras found himself without words, but this woman who seemed to be a mass of contradictions had stolen them from him. He decided there wasn't much use in staying at the table all night, and so made his way back to the little room and changed for bed. As soon as his head hit the pillow, the weeks of no sleep caught up with him, and he fell into a restless sleep immediately.

In her own room, Vanessa leaned against the door for support and closed her eyes. She heard Enjolras go silent and sighed. She almost laughed at the impossibility of it all; she had the man who led her lover to his death living under the same roof as her. And what's more, she was finding it hard to hate him as much as she should. Certainly, she despised him, but witnessing how weak and fragile he had become since she had seen him giving his rally just weeks before that fateful night softened her heart a little.

"What have I got myself into?" she whispered as she slid down the door and sat with a thud on the cold, wooden floorboards.

It wasn't that she expected anyone to answer, but the silence that confronted her was still a shock to her. It felt as though the silence could crush her. She curled up and rested her forehead on her knees allowing herself to wallow in self-pity for a while. It wasn't long however, before she too succumbed to her own exhaustion and fell asleep.


	2. The Heart of a Cynic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Les Miserables. This was just written for fun.

It was surprising to awake feeling refreshed; something that hadn't happened for over a month. Not one morning had gone by since the fall of the barricade that Enjolras had fluttered his eyes without a headache, without a stomach ache, without heartache. Those mornings had been met with an overwhelming urge to simply roll over and go back to sleep, as there was nothing to climb out of bed for. What reason does one have to enter the light when their soul is desperately and forever engulfed in darkness?

This was foreign to him, and once his eyes were fully opened, he realized that the room was foreign as well. He had no recollection of where he was or how he'd ended up here, as this was not his apartment, not his childhood home, not even the room of an inn. Honestly, this bed was far less comfortable than any aforementioned, yet he had slept deeply and without interruption.

This was also quite foreign, as for the better part of three years, Enjolras had not only survived on little sleep, he'd thrived on it. His mind, brilliant as it was, could not mute itself at night. There was too much to be done and he'd curse himself for spending even a minute in bed, even though he knew it was a necessity of life. Combeferre was always on his case, reminding him more often than not that he needed to sleep, but he didn't know how else to be.

It took time, quite an amount of it, for the memory of the night before to return, and as it did, it was not just a flood, it was a deluge.

He'd had a rather fraught argument with his stepfather just before dinner and ended up pushing him too far. As a result, his stepfather had decided enough was enough. Although Enjolras did not bear his name, his behaviour and actions could mar the Vicomte's perfect reputation amongst the elite of Paris and he would no longer hide a fugitive in his house. He would allow it no longer, thus, without even allowing time to collect his belongings, Enjolras was thrown from his mother's home. He had stormed through Paris in an unseeing rage, furious at himself and his failure. This fury quickly transformed to self-loathing, which brought him to a halt above the rushing waters of the Seine. He'd broken down into an emotional wreck.

Just when he had truly reached rock bottom, a woman had spoken to him on the bridge. An angel, he had no doubt She'd called him Apollo. He only knew one other person who dared call him Apollo, and he had died beside him at the barricade. The woman with eyes dark as a storm and hair that curled gently around her shoulders … what was her name? He frowned up at the ceiling, trying to remember his strange new acquaintance's name.

Vanessa! Vanessa had given him a place to stay in her flat above a café. Like a puzzle, the shards and fragments of Enjolras' scattered memory fell into place. The picture was complete, Enjolras jolted awake. He was in the spare room of Vanessa's flat.

Sitting up, Enjolras began looking around the space. For a spare room, it looked rather lived in. Clothes were scattered around the floor, books piled up beside papers on a very untidy desk, and hung over the chair was a very familiar looking waistcoat. Startled, Enjolras realised he did recognise the waistcoat; no one else would wear such a hideous green. Tentatively, attempting to preserve his still aching ribs, Enjolras crawled out of bed and shuffled across the room. Judging by the dim orange light piercing the shutters, it was still very early and he didn't want to wake his generous host. Slowly, with a shaking hand, he reached out for the garment. It was rough to the touch and, even from a distance Enjolras could smell the unmistakable scent of alcohol tainting the air.

He felt sick.

Picking up the waistcoat, he could see the worn and tattered cockade that Enjolras himself had insisted upon adding. There was no doubt about it, this room belonged to Grantaire. Now that he knew this, everything about the room screamed Grantaire. The scrawled writing on the half written papers could be no-one else's, and Enjolras only now realised he had seen Grantaire in every piece of clothing strewn across the floor at least twice.

The waistcoat fell from Enjolras' hand with an inelegant thud. Enjolras himself was staring at the writing on the table. It was the same letter scribbled over and over again, with hideous spelling mistakes and large sections crossed out, they all read the same: My precious Vanessa. With a trembling hand, Enjolras reached out and picked up the top letter from the pile. It read as follows:

_My precious Vanessa,_

_Please forgive me for this. I know you will find it hard, but you must understand there is no other way. My darling strange little lady, I love you, you know I do. But now we must be parted, tomorrow I –_ This section was scribbled out until it was no longer legible _– I will follow him to my death if I have to. You know I cannot give you all my heart, but accept what I can give the way you always have. I know you will stay true to me, you will be in my heart always._

_R_

Enjolras felt as though the room was spinning around him. This woman who had done so much to help him … he had sent her lover to his grave. And to think, he had never thought Grantaire capable of loving a woman. Truly loving someone. Truly loving anyone! He had seen Grantaire with many a woman sat upon his knee. But the idea that he could actually have a steady relationship with any of those women seemed impossible. Enjolras hadn't thought him capable of such a tender emotion.

Outside the small room, Enjolras heard movement and a woman humming. He assumed it must be Vanessa. Deciding he needed to know for sure, Enjolras turned to the pile of neatly folded clothes he had set out and changed into them, and as he put them he on realised that they were undoubtedly Grantaire's. This knowledge didn't help his mood at all, but still he struggled into them. He tightened his belt in an attempt to stop the trousers from falling past his hips – Grantaire had always been much broader than the god-like leader – and pulled on his own boots. Once fully dressed, he plucked up the courage to venture out into the living area.

As he left the bedroom, he saw Vanessa at the stove, cooking once again. Her hair was pulled up and pinned into a scruffy bun, and she wore a simple brown skirt with a coarsely woven blouse. The skirt looked well-worn, with plenty of patches smattered across it. It seemed she hadn't noticed the new arrival and was humming a low, mournful melody to herself as she stirred what Enjolras assumed must be breakfast. In an attempt to break the awkward tension he was feeling, Enjolras lightly coughed, "Good morning, mam'selle," he said gently.

Vanessa spun around in shock. "Heavens," she laughed. "You scared me. I'm not used to company lately. Good morning monsieur." She smiled airily, then turned back to her cooking and called back, "Can I tempt you with some breakfast monsieur? I mean no offense but you look like you could do with a hearty meal inside you."

Enjolras nodded. "That would be lovely thank you." He glanced out of the small window opposite the kitchen. "It's rather early to be up though, isn't it?" he asked, an unnerving desire to shift the topic overwhelming him.

Vanessa shrugged. "I always rise with the sun. Gran –" She stopped short, seemingly realising what she had said, and coughed to cover up her pause. A melancholy swept over her. "I have been told it can be quite annoying to live with," she said quietly.

"Not at all, mam'selle, I am an early riser myself," he replied with his usual charm that came from years of upper class education.

"Well then," Vanessa said. Suddenly, she wiped her hands on her skirt and grabbed two bowls. "It seems we shall get along splendidly, feel free to stay as long as you need." She scooped out the steaming porridge and placed them both on the table, took a pitcher of water and poured it into two glasses before placing them on the table as well. She smiled, but once again it was hollow. "Please, come and join me Monsieur."

Enjolras dutifully took his place opposite his strange hostess and opted to eat the entire bowl of porridge before turning the conversation to what he already suspected would be painful for them both. He needed his strength to keep himself from breaking down. He watched Vanessa play with her food and it dawned on him that she was trying to hide her melancholy state from him. If his suspicions were correct, she would understand his state of mind, if not share it. Though he doubted either of them had the desire to voice their sorrow.

Slowly, Vanessa raised her eyes to meet Enjolras' and her demeanour instantly changed. Gone was the sorrow and mourning that graced her features and in their place was a hollow smile. To any undiscerning onlooker, it would have been a perfectly believable show of cheer, however Enjolras could see straight through this façade and recognised her pain behind the delicate mask.

Vanessa realised there was no reason to keep up such a falsity around her guest and dropped the smile. She looked down at her bowl; she had still to eat a morsel, and pushed it away.

"I'm sure you have questions for me," she said quietly, looking Enjolras straight in the eye, something many women found hard to do for reasons unknown to Enjolras.

He too pushed away his bowl and leaned forward in his chair. He wanted to study every detail of this strange, mournful creature. "I do," he said. "But then I'm sure you already know what most of those questions are going to be."

Vanessa smiled wryly. "Indeed, you want to know why there are Gr –" Again she stopped short of saying his name and took a long, shaky breath. It seemed as though it pained her even to say his name, and judging from the tone of the cynic's letters to her, she had reason to feel such pain. It was the pain of losing love; a pain, one must add, that Enjolras had not learnt for himself yet. True there had been the love one shares with brothers, that love he had known all too well. There is the love one feels towards a parent, he had lost that when his father died when he was just 15. And, there is the love one has for a people. The latter of these three Enjolras swore to himself he would never lose, no matter how dire the situation became.

Vanessa looked at Enjolras with a new steeliness in her eyes. "You want to know why his clothes are in the room you currently occupy. That is because until the fourth of June, this flat belonged to him. He was the love of my life, even though I was not the love of his." At this she gave Enjolras a sharp glare through her eyelashes before looking away. "We lived together for over a year and every night he was at the Musain to see us both before you and your damned revolution stole him from me."

Enjolras was taken aback; he hadn't expected her to be so frank with him. She was brutal in her honesty, and it sent a dagger through Enjolras' heart. Not only had he failed to change the world for mankind, he had destroyed the world of this beautiful young woman. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came. There was nothing he could say except a whispered, "I'm so sorry," uttered through the lump in his throat.

Vanessa's piercing eyes shot back up at this barely audible apology and she glared at the shadow of Apollo that sat before her. She saw the dark circles under his eyes that spoke of night after night chasing away the ghosts of his memories. She saw the haunted, painful look in his dull eyes that spoke of losing those you love. She saw a broken man – and disgust overcame her. She felt sick with rage and hatred towards this mere mortal. How dare he share in her anguish when he had caused it!

"I don't want your apology!" she spat. She stood abruptly and shoved her crockery in the sink. "I have to go to work now," she snarled through her teeth, her anger barely contained. "You are welcome to stay here as long as you need. I do this not out of any love for you, but out of love for him, and he loved you, so I must respect his wishes that you live and that I care for you. Do not ask for my forgiveness though. That I will not give." And with that, she snatched up her worn brown coat and her apron and swept out of the house, leaving a key on the table in front of him.

Enjolras sat at the table with his mouth clamped shut and tears brimming in his eyes. When had he become so weak? He sat in this mute state for most of the morning as memories of the wine cask and the barmaid, so treasured by the cynic, came flooding back to him.

_The first time he met the feisty young barmaid was just after they began holding meetings at the Musain. Enjolras sat in what was rapidly becoming his regular corner, surrounded by Courfeyrac, Feuilly and Combeferre. At the table behind him sat Joly, Bossuet, Jehan and Bahorel. On a chair in the corner sat Grantaire. It seemed this was already his preferred seat long before the Amis had begun meeting there. A barmaid was steering between the other patrons on the second floor with trays full of empty glasses and cups when Grantaire gave a shrill whistle. The barmaid turned and raised an amused eyebrow while Enjolras glowered up at the wine cask in frustration. He would not, if you were to ask him afterwards, admit that the sharp noise had made him jump, but the smudge of ink across his paper said otherwise._

_"What do you want, drunkard?" the barmaid asked affectionately._

_"Another drink over here!" Grantaire called back._

_Enjolras rolled his eyes at the cynic and turned back to his work. He'd been perfecting for days the new speech he was to give the following afternoon at a rally and wasn't about to let any distractions stop it from being a masterpiece. However, the drunk had other ideas. When the barmaid seemed to ignore his order he rose on unsteady legs and staggered after her. "Hey, ma petite, I need another drink," he slurred out as he reached for her shoulder._

_The barmaid turned and placed a hand in the centre of Grantaire's chest. "Nicholas Grantaire, I shall not get you another drink until you can prove that you have not already had too many." She smiled devilishly._

_Enjolras noticed despairingly that the other Amis were now observing the pair with fascination. Even Combeferre had turned from his books to watch as the impish brunette pushed aside chairs and tables, and a few patrons, and drew a line along the floor with chalk. Grantaire frowned in confusion for a moment before a grin broke across his face. He took his place, albeit rather clumsily, at one end of the line and faced the barmaid, whose name Enjolras had still to learn._

_Courfeyrac, now more interested in Grantaire's trial than Enjolras' speech, began to cheer him on. "Go on 'Taire. If you do it, I'll buy you two drinks!" he laughed. Enjolras sent him a withering glare and shook his head, hoping to deter his excitable dark haired friend. Unfortunately for our intrepid leader, it was to no avail, as the rest of the Amis joined in Courfeyrac's cheers. Grantaire was spurred on by these encouragements and began on his valiant quest for the sacred liquor. He began to take small, deliberate steps, placing one unsure foot in front of the other. His arms stuck out at odd angles and wind-milled around, making him look like a peculiar, clumsy bird. Enjolras finally gave up all attempts of concentrating on his speech and turned to face the action. If he had to stop working because of the antics going on, he figured he might as well actually watch. He found himself rather enjoying watching Grantaire make more of a fool of himself than usual, and it was rumoured among the Amis that he even cracked a smile that night!_

_As for Grantaire and his quest, it ended in a somewhat haphazard victory that by some innocent coincidence resulted with him sat on the barmaid's lap. Not that he was complaining, I assure you. He sat on her knee, or rather, was sprawled across her knee and the floor with a grin on his face as he stared up at her. "I did it," he said triumphantly. "Therefore drinks are in order!" he cried to rapturous applause. The barmaid, Enjolras deciding he had to at least have the decency to learn her name before the night was out, shoved the drunk off her knee into an unceremonious heap and stood up with all the poise and elegance of a queen. She rose and brushed off her dark blue dress before sashaying away in silence. The Amis laughed at the forlorn expression on the cynic's face and didn't notice Enjolras quietly rise form his seat to follow the barmaid._

_That is, his absence went unnoticed by all except the cynic. Grantaire saw his Apollo stand up with a frown and follow his current object of affection. He felt a surge of jealousy that the pretty young brunette had stolen the attention of his Apollo from him, but it subsided quickly when the others crowded around him full of jests and cheer._

_Enjolras followed the barmaid over to the bar before speaking in a low voice. "Pardon me mademoiselle," he said, "I wanted to apologise for my –" He glanced back at the drunkard "–friend, and to ask your name." He then explained, "I have yet to get to know the staff at this establishment."_

_The barmaid turned in surprise and leant against the counter. "Trust me monsieur, I have dealt with much worse behaviour than that of our dear Nicholas," she said with a chuckle, her eyes drifting over to the drunkard. "And as for my name, you may call me Vanessa. I'm sure I'll be seeing you around –" she glanced up at Enjolras with an impish smile "– Apollo."_

_Enjolras wasn't sure whether he had heard the last epithet correctly, and so decided he would leave the intriguing young woman to her work and go back to his friends. His brothers. He took one last look at her and smiled; it was for people like her that he fought for a better life, he decided._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, 2 chapters in and I'm already late updating. This is going so well. Anyway, let me know what you think of the story so far and I'll return with more soon.  
> PB


	3. With Fresh Eyes We See

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Les Miserables. This was just written for fun.

By the time Vanessa returned home that evening, she had calmed remarkably. She collapsed into the small apartment looking worn and tired, her face flushed and her hair sticking to her skin with sweat. She hated having to work two jobs, especially two waitressing jobs, but it paid a debt and that was all that mattered. Plus she now had another mouth to feed, though she was sure that as soon as she introduced her new charge to Madame LaMotte and her two children, he would be welcome down in the café to be fed for free any time.

The owner of the café, who to this day refused to be called a widow, was a kind, affable woman who wouldn't see anyone go hungry, nor would she see them mistreating her staff, something Vanessa was very grateful for. She had owned the Liberté with her husband for over twenty years, and was known throughout Paris for being the woman who wouldn't turn any man in need away. Due to this fact, she was out of profit more often than not. However, the Lord blessed her each month with enough money to pay her bills and the rent and so she did not mind.

Vanessa realised with a jolt that she had been standing in the doorway of her small apartment staring at the sleeping form at the kitchen table for 15 minutes. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, trying to decide what to do. Shrugging off her coat, she glanced at the small clock on the side table, just enough time to bathe and get changed before her evening shift in the Liberté began. She supposed she should also wake up the fragile looking man curled up against the table, so with a another haggard sigh, she walked over to him and gently nudged his arm. "Apollo, wake up," she said with all the gentleness she could muster. When this didn't work, she tried a slightly more forceful approach: kicking his chair out from under the table which sent the poor man flying backwards.

His eyes shot open and he let out a strangled cry as he soared backwards across the floor. He landed in a tangled heap of chair and man, then blinked up at her in confusion. "What happened?" he asked groggily.

Vanessa couldn't help but smile at the sight of him, he looked less and less like the hero of Grantaire's stories and more like a young child. "I came home to find you asleep in the same position I left you in this morning. Have you been there all day?" she asked.

Frowning for a moment before realisation hit him, Enjolras nodded. "Apparently so. What time is it?" he asked through a badly suppressed yawn.

Vanessa glanced at the clock. "Half past three," she replied, "I've got about an hour before I need to go downstairs and work. Do you think you can entertain yourself for twenty minutes while I change and then we'll go get some dinner?"

She sauntered off into her own room leaving Enjolras to sit on the floor feeling even more confused than he had before. Eventually he decided he might as well get up off the wood. There was no doubt there would be a nice, colourful bruise on his left hip in the morning. With twenty minutes to spare, he looked around the room for something to occupy his time, and a pile of sketchpads stacked up against the sofa caught his eye. They were hidden among the other books, but Enjolras had seen them often enough to recognise them as different from the dull hardbacks that surrounded them.

Grantaire's sketchbooks were a common topic of conversation among the Amis after meetings. Enjolras had only ever looked at one of them in the time he had known him, but he had been surprised by the cynic's talent. Not a day went by when you wouldn't hear Grantaire's comments on the ugliness of the world; it seemed true beauty, for Grantaire, could only be created on a page.

Enjolras slowly made his way over to the sofa and picked up the first one. After glancing at the closed door separating him and Vanessa, he looked back at the cover of the book. It was a simple black covering with string sewn into the binding to keep it together, evidently well used, and had smatterings of paints and silvery smudges of charcoal smeared across the cover. Enjolras held it as carefully as if it was a small child, cradling it in his lap. He delicately opened the first page and found a very familiar face staring back at him.

His own piercing blue eyes glared back at him with a passionate fire. The piece was a perfect reflection of the real man, or at least the man that he had been. The golden curls that framed his face were coloured with a gentle wash of paint, so that each curl seemed to shine and glint as though the sun had caught it. He really did look like he belonged in some ancient legend. The painting took Enjolras' breath away. He had known Grantaire was good. It was only now he realised how good Grantaire actually was.

On turning the page, Enjolras found a beautiful woman glancing at him through long, delicate lashes with a gentle, affectionate smile gracing her cracked lips. The woman seemed shy, as though not used to the attention of the artist. The drawing was in charcoal, but each detail of her face was as intricate as that of the painting on the previous page. Enjolras could practically touch the hollow of her cheeks and the dirt streaked across her left cheekbone, which protruded painfully from beneath her skin. She was gaunt and looked as though she hadn't slept in months, yet there was a peculiar unearthly beauty about this lady of the streets. Enjolras wondered how on earth Grantaire had met this ethereal creature. He wondered on the identity of this young waif for a while, drinking in every miniscule detail of her image.

He remembered seeing this woman before. Those dark, brooding eyes that seemed to accuse Enjolras through the page.

* * *

" _We must have education for all, not just for the bourgeois who lord over the masses!" Enjolras finished his speech, slamming his fist passionately onto the table in front of him. His fiery words were met with rapturous applause from the crowd crammed into the second floor of the Musain. There were cheers and calls of agreement from almost every man. It seemed that at last Enjolras had found a way to speak to the people he would one day fight for; through passionate words and promises of a better tomorrow, he managed to stir in them the desire to join his battle against the inequality of man._

_He moved away from the table at the head of the room, satisfied that he had no contest for their attention now. All he needed to do was allow them to mull his speech over between themselves and wait until they came to him._

" _What about the women?"_

_The throng of men parted and Enjolras saw a dark haired woman in the centre of the room, hand on her hip and a calm, defiant expression on her face._

_Enjolras swallowed, unsure of how to broach this subject. In all honesty, education for women was something he had taken for granted in his speech. Of course he thought it was necessary, but it was necessary for all, so that included women, obviously. Or at least, Enjolras thought that was what he meant._

_He coughed to cover up his momentary pause and frowned down at the woman. "Mademoiselle, of course women should be able to receive an education," he said calmly._

" _And how do you plan on doing that?" the woman asked. "It seems to me that only thing you're interested in is wasting lives on your barricade." The room fell into a strange silence as everyone waited to see Enjolras' reaction._

_Slowly, Grantaire rose to his feet and placed a hand on the woman's forearm in a brief moment of sobriety. She glanced down at it disdainfully and brushed it off before looking back at Enjolras with accusation in her eyes. In the silence of the room Enjolras heard Grantaire whisper to his friend._

" _Please, not now," he begged_

_With a fire that held all her pain and anger in her eyes, the woman glared at Grantaire. "No," she said, her voice rising so the whole room could hear. "No I shan't just be quiet while you pine over him and his pointless revolution!" She turned to face the room. "How is this revolution going to change the world, answer me that? Can anyone?" She looked around the room, as did Enjolras, and to his dismay, none of his Amis would look her in the eye and stand up for what they believed in. How could one woman make his men lose their faith?_

_He was furious._

_Finally, Vanessa's eyes met Enjolras' and she raised an eyebrow. Enjolras felt a fierce anger rise in his chest as he began his answer, "This revolution that you have so little faith in is going to change the world by releasing the masses from a system of government that has oppressed them for years. The barricades will bring a new tomorrow and a new government that cares about the people of France_. _We_   _care about the people of France, all of them! The men, the women, the children; we all deserve the same. Every person deserves the chance to have a life worth living, don't you think, mademoiselle?" The sarcasm and disdain in his voice as he spoke her title shocked Enjolras. He knew this was a childish thing to do, but he had no power over his own tongue at the minute._

_There was a ripple of laughter. The men in the room all thought he was mocking this woman. Had he been? He couldn't tell. All he knew was that in defence against this sharp tongued woman, he had turned to infantile tactics that would patronise her, and that had not been his intention. He looked down at the brunette who was still glowering at him with dark, venomous eyes. They sent a shiver down his spine, though he would never admit it. Swallowing thickly, he turned away from the mass of bodies and moved over to his table, where Combeferre and Courfeyrac sat, both staring at their respective drinks. Combeferre looked up sheepishly, and gave Enjolras an apologetic smile._

" _Mon ami, you gave a great speech," he offered._

" _And I ruined all my day's work in one sentence. No: one word. How can I call for equality when I can't even give it?" Enjolras replied_

" _Indeed," came a low voice from behind them. It was the woman who had just thwarted his work, her dark blue eyes brimming with loathing as she placed two more drinks on the table and picked up the empties. Realisation dawned; she was the barmaid here, so making a fool of her probably wasn't his best move . . . "Maybe now you can live what you preach and do some good before you destroy lives on your barricade of death," she hissed before turning away. Grantaire was blocking her way, glaring at her as though she had just told God himself that he didn't exist._

" _What are you doing, ma cherie?" he asked in a hushed voice, though Enjolras heard perfectly. He also saw the way Grantaire gripped the dark haired woman's arm, the red marks that were forming around his hand._

" _Giving him the wake up call he needs. You would do well to heed his lesson, now let go of my arm!" she growled. She pulled away from him with enough force to unbalance the cynic. With one, teary, hate filled glance back at Enjolras, Vanessa stormed out of the room and downstairs to the kitchens. Enjolras had never felt more wretched._

_Grantaire meanwhile, was frozen in exactly the same position as before, stuck between running after Vanessa and staying with his Apollo. In the end it was Enjolras who won out, much to the dismay of the furious, heartbroken young woman sat downstairs crying in the kitchen._

* * *

Enjolras only stopped staring at the strangely beautiful woman when the door to Vanessa's bedroom opened and, suddenly, he didn't need to wonder on her identity any more. He could perfectly imagine her younger, too thin and with dirt marring her alabaster skin, and the image was forever seared into his memory. Vanessa looked at the book with a moment of sorrow before glaring at Enjolras with hatred flaming in her stormy blue eyes. "What are you doing with that?" she snapped.

"I'm sorry, I never got to see much of his work before, I was just interested." Enjolras said sheepishly.

Vanessa seemed to mellow and walked over to look at the page, then smile sadly. Evidently this portrait held a special place in the woman's heart. Her face had softened and Enjolras found she was quite beautiful when she didn't frown. Of course Enjolras could appreciate her beauty, yet felt nothing towards her; he was, as was usual for the revolutionary, indifferent. And that was all he had been for the past few months, unwilling to permit himself to feel anything for fear that the guilt would overwhelm him. The only time he had allowed any emotion to seep through his defences, he had lost it completely and ended up on the bridge.

"He was very gifted, no?" Vanessa said quietly. Her eyes were distant. Wistful, even. Enjolras' heart ached for her; she must have loved the cynic very much. She took a deep, shaking breath and turned away as to hide her tears from the ever observant Apollo.

Enjolras nodded mutely and stared at the book, not knowing how to comfort the brunette beside him. The silence that blanketed the room was heavy, Enjolras staring at a portrait before him, Vanessa standing at his side. Her eyes had glazed over with tears; it was obvious she was remembering some far off memory and, in all honesty, Enjolras didn't have the heart to break her from such a thing. After all, in this time of mourning, all she had were her memories, just as he too, only had his memories . . . . however he still didn't know if they were doing him any good.

After a tense pause, Vanessa seemed to snap out of her daze and studied Enjolras, who in turn looked up at her with expectant eyes. He was about to say something when a low growl cut across his words. He coughed to cover up the embarrassment. "Sorry, I forgot to eat today," he said as way of apology.

Instead of the silence he had become accustomed to with Vanessa, she replied with a sort of half-disguised laugh.

"Well, there's a surprise." It was nice to see a genuine smile on her face, Enjolras decided. Through her giggles, Vanessa said, "You wouldn't believe the amount of times Combeferre or Courfeyrac would come to me with that same exasperated expression and ask me to get you some soup because you had forgotten once again to eat for a week!" Enjolras quickly found that Vanessa's smile was infectious, she seemed to light up the room with her crooked grin. "Do you remember the time you forgot to eat and fainted during a speech?" she asked.

Enjolras groaned. "Yes, I never felt so mollycoddled in my entire life!" He shook his head in mock horror. "Even Jehan talked to me as though I was an infant."

Enjolras' reaction only added to Vanessa's good mood and she began to laugh freely. "Well, we don't want to make the same mistake," she grinned. "Shall we go down to the café and get some food before my shift?" She gestured to the door.

It was as if all the pain and anger had melted away in the brief moments of her laughter and she was a new person. She was much brighter, she seemed happier, but Enjolras knew that wasn't the case. Instead of trying to force her into talking about her feelings, something he himself was terrible at, he chose to enjoy the brief happiness they could share. He followed her out of the small flat and down a flight of shambling, winding stairs that hugged the back wall of the café which brought them to a small courtyard behind the kitchen. In the courtyard sat a young man, his head thrown back so that he could enjoy the bright orange glow of the sun as it filtered into space. Enjolras watched as Vanessa came to a stop in front of the young brunet, blocking the sun. Moaning at the sudden lack of warmth, the teen opened his eyes and jumped when he saw the reason behind the disappearance. "Vanessa!" he squeaked, standing to attention.

A chuckle escaped Vanessa's lips. "Bonjour Claude, having a nice nap?" she asked.

"Erm, yes," he stammered, then changed his mind. "No, no I wasn't sleeping!"

Claude, at 19 was not as naïve as his sister, yet had a strength that surpassed all those he met. He too had a gentle beauty to his strong, dark features and it was said among those who knew him well that he was almost a perfect replica of his father. He shared the same dark eyes and rich chestnut hair that his mother had fallen in love with. Claude was Vanessa's constant shadow since she had begun working for the LaMotte's four years ago and was fiercely jealous of any man who held her attention over him. It was not lost on Vanessa that she had this young admirer, however she chose to ignore him for the most part, hopeful that he would eventually find a woman who would distract him and hold his heart forevermore.

Vanessa's laugh only got louder. "Don't worry mon ami, I won't tell your mother. Just as long as you make sure to do my lock ups next week, okay?" She winked.

With a relieved sigh, Claude nodded. "Yeah, sure. Do you want me to do tonight as well?" he asked, halfway through a yawn.

"No, I think I'll do tonight." Vanessa looked past the young brunet into the kitchen. "Is your mother in the kitchen?" she asked.

Claude nodded. "She's already cooking the meals." His eyes flitted over to where Enjolras stood bathed in the shadows of the afternoon, he started as he saw him. "Vanessa, who's this?" he asked, his voice turning sharp with accusation.

"Come into the kitchen with me and you'll soon find out," she laughed, wrapping an arm around the slender shoulders of the brunet and grabbing Enjolras' wrist as she made her way through a small door into the dimly lit kitchen. "Madame LaMotte!" she sang, "Madame, where are you?"

A gentle looking, elderly woman emerged from the storeroom, her blonde hair frazzled from the heat of the stove and her cheeks had a rosy hue to them. "Vanessa dear, you're not needed down here for another hour yet," she said kindly. She had a soft voice that painfully reminded Enjolras of his mother.

At this moment a whirlwind of movement came blurring through the door into the café, "Mama, I'm back," a young, gay voice called. The tempest came to a halt and as the steam of the kitchen settled around her, a radiant blonde was revealed. Genevieve, who was maturing into an ever joyful, beautiful, golden haired young woman who could have rivalled the beauty of a cherub. But Genevieve was a very naïve young woman, and in her heart she was still just a child. She had somehow kept her childlike innocence after 21 years of living in some of the darkest corners of Paris. She had a smile that spoke of freedom from the horrors that Enjolras had seen, and eyes that sparkled with the joys of life, those very blue eyes suddenly locking onto Enjolras'. Her jaw dropped open as though she had seen the Lord himself before her, her hands dropped from where they had been unbuttoning her coat, the basket she had been holding dropped to the ground.

She was infatuated. In all honesty, Enjolras was used to this sort of reaction from women now, though he hadn't expected it in his current state.

Vanessa had also noticed the apparent infatuation of her friend and chuckled. "Gen, dear, wake up," she laughed and pulled Enjolras further into the room. "May I introduce to you, Monsieur Enjolras. He is staying with me in my rooms for the time being. Enjolras, this is Madame LaMotte, the owner of this fine establishment, her daughter, Genevieve, and her son, Claude." She gestured with a flourish to each as she introduced them, then grinned at Enjolras. "They are my own little family, I have no idea what I'd do without them."

Enjolras nodded respectfully. "Madame, it is an honour to meet you," he said. He bowed deeply to Genevieve. Then he extended a hand to Claude, which was eyed suspiciously by the younger man. It took a nudge in the ribs from Vanessa as she passed for him to accept the gesture. "It's good to meet you, monsieur," Enjolras said, silently taking in this young man who obviously saw him as a rival.

Madame LaMotte cut in when she saw her son's jealous glare. "Well, Monsieur," she said loudly, "would you like something to eat? I know our dear Vanessa is partial to a meal or two that she doesn't have to cook herself." She winked with a mischievous grin.

"I'll take you up on that offer!" Vanessa hollered from in the café. Her call caused a ripple of laughter among the little group; Enjolras felt more like part of this family in just a few minutes than he ever had in his own.

Madame LaMotte plated up enough meals for each of them. "Well, come on then you rabble!" She laughed as she made her way out of the kitchen.

She set the plates down on a table and gestured for them to join her. Genevieve and Claude quickly took a seat at either side of their mother, with Claude on her right and Genevieve on her left. Vanessa had taken one look at the glare Claude was giving Enjolras, and sat beside the young brunet. Slowly, Enjolras took a seat between the two young women and shot Vanessa a grateful glance. She nodded her understanding.

As she came to the end of her meal Madame LaMotte leaned back in her seat. "So, Monsieur Enjolras," she began cheerily.

Enjolras cut in. "Please Madame, I would prefer it if you dropped the 'monsieur'. It's just Enjolras."

This gained him a chuckle from the elderly woman opposite. "Very well, Enjolras. If I may ask, how do you know our dear Vanessa?" she asked between mouthfuls.

Both Vanessa and Enjolras froze, neither wanting to bring up their relationship. Vanessa stepped in. "I met Enjolras when he was in need and invited him to stay with us until he no longer requires my help."

Madame LaMotte noticed the guarded look in her adoptive daughter's eyes and frowned, however she decided that was a conversation she must have with the girl later. Instead, she smiled warmly at the newcomer and turned the conversation onto setting up for the night. "Well, he's very welcome to stay as long as he pulls his weight. Speaking of which, Gen, ma petite, Claude is going to the church for his lessons and it's my night off, so you two are on your own tonight."

Vanessa nodded. "That's fine, we can handle ourselves," she said with a grin. She glanced at the window. "Better start getting ready then."

Enjolras followed her gaze and found he was looking at quite a gathering of men already waiting for the café to reopen for the evening. He watched as Madame LaMotte collected the plates and took them into the back, Claude made his way through the kitchen to collect his coat and satchel before his evening lessons and Genevieve and Vanessa pulled on aprons and lit candles. As all this happened, Enjolras felt impossibly redundant. It was as though he had simply disappeared from view. He felt as though he should maybe get up and help the two young women. However they kept insisting that he needn't get up, Genevieve especially as she kept coming back to his table with another refill. It seemed he was spending the evening in a café, the first time in over a month. He just prayed he would be left alone.

 


	4. Tentative Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Les Miserables. This is just written for fun.

The evening had passed with remarkably little disturbance at the Liberté. A few drunken flirts had tried, and failed, to woo Genevieve and Vanessa – one even got a black eye for his troubles. Enjolras found that he quite enjoyed the cheerful atmosphere of the Liberté. It was a change for the marble leader, there was no undertone of revolution to stir the people. The people were stirred by their own lives, focusing only on themselves and their immediate surroundings. Amongst all the light hearted patrons of the Liberté, Enjolras found his own spirits lifting. He hadn't felt so relaxed and carefree in years.

However, such feelings were soon squashed when unwanted memories started creeping back to him. Two men carrying a drunken friend from the establishment reminded Enjolras of the multitude of times he and Combeferre had been required to carry Grantaire from the Musain and deposit him on a sofa to sleep off the wine. A group of men outside the café speaking in harsh tones reminded him of the many times he had diffused a fight between Bahorel and anyone. The multitude of men flirting with Vanessa and Genevieve reminded Enjolras painfully of Courfeyrac and the trouble that boy had gotten him into. It seemed wherever he looked, there was someone to remind him of a past he could never forget.

By midnight the café was all but empty, save for Enjolras and a few customers. Vanessa looked exhausted as she leaned against the bar for support, her face flushed with exertion. She had been nothing but a blur flying past all night. Like a bee, it seemed to be impossible for her to stand still. Flitting from table to table, refilling drinks and handing out meals, sweeping floors and mopping up unsightly messes with a smile. A smile, it seemed, for everyone except Enjolras. Not that he had expected any different – he was hardly her favourite customer. The situation was probably made worse by the fact that Genevieve had made it her mission to flirt her way into his arms. Her mission would be everlasting, however.

That very afternoon the café had been open no more than ten minutes before her assault began.

"Can I get you a drink, monsieur?"

"How come I've never seen your handsome face around here before, monsieur?"

"Mon Dieu, you can even make those rags look like royal robes, monsieur!"

"How long will you be living in our humble abode, monsieur?"

"You know, monsieur, I'm sure I've seen your face before." This one caught Enjolras attention.

He'd looked up and raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Really, where?" he had asked.

Genevieve had laughed gaily. "Why, in church! Monsieur, you look like the angels that surround the altar. I must say, monsieur . . ."

At this point Enjolras had stopped listening.

There seemed to be a never ending supply of compliments and questions for the exuberant young barmaid to pose, much to Enjolras' dismay. It seemed all hope of spending the night quietly enjoying a drink was lost. Enjolras tried to imply he wasn't interested, but Genevieve simply pressed on, oblivious.

There had been at least three separate occasions when Vanessa had been required to call Genevieve away from the table in the corner because she was spending so long there. "Gen!" Vanessa would call. "I'm not supposed to be the only barmaid down here tonight. Pull your weight, for pity's sake!"

Genevieve's glance would dart from Enjolras to Vanessa, then back again, her expression nothing short of forlorn. There would often be a moment of hesitation as she struggled to make a decision before she'd sigh and wistfully trudge away. Each time this occurred, Enjolras would hold his breath until she had disappeared, then exhale in relief as he enjoyed the brief period of calm before Genevieve inevitably found her way back to his table again.

As closing time approached and the café emptied, Vanessa had to put more and more effort into keeping her flirtatious young friend away from the table in the corner. With each emptied table it became harder to keep the blonde's focus. Suddenly menial tasks, such as washing the dishes and sweeping the floor, became incredibly important. Anything to keep her away from Enjolras; Vanessa could think of nothing worse than seeing that man ruining another life.

Finally, the last chair emptied and it became a race to the only occupied table. Vanessa heard the bell chime and her head snapped up in Enjolras' direction, finding Genevieve already making her way across the room towards him. Weaving between tables with ease that came from years as a barmaid, Vanessa reached the table mere seconds before her younger friend. "Gen dear, why don't you go lock up?" she asked over her shoulder.

The look of fury on Genevieve's face was a sight to see. With a frustrated groan, she turned on her heel and stormed to the door, bolting it for the night. Enjolras smiled in spite of himself. "I seem to have an unfortunate effect on her, I'm afraid," he muttered.

"Indeed," came the sharp reply. Vanessa dropped into the seat opposite Enjolras unceremoniously. "We need to talk."

Dread trickled down Enjolras' spine like ice cold water down a stone. He knew he couldn't stay with Vanessa forever. After all, he barely knew her. He had hoped, however, that he would have been able to stay longer than a night. "Yes," he said quietly, allowing her to take charge of the conversation.

Vanessa saw the sudden look of horror and sorrow in his cobalt eyes. She laughed, "Monsieur, I'm not kicking you out!"

At these words, Enjolras released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "I thought you would want me out, and I wholeheartedly understand why you would. But all I'm asking is for a few more days," he stammered, desperation palpable.

Holding up a hand, Vanessa smiled. "I've told you, you can stay as long as you need. Although you might want to collect a few of your belongings, mainly some clothes that will actually fit you," she mused, taking in his ill-fitting attire.

Glancing down at the offending clothes, Enjolras nodded. "That's probably wise. I could write to Jean-Luc and ask him to send me whatever he can salvage."

At this moment, Genevieve sauntered back over. "Who's Jean-Luc?" she asked, ever curious.

"My brother," Enjolras explained politely. He was still wary of the never-ending attention he was receiving from Genevieve and looked to Vanessa for help.

Noticing Enjolras' silent plea for assistance, Vanessa rose with a flourish. "Well, I suppose we should leave that 'til the morning, monsieur. It's been a long day and, I for one, am exhausted. Shall we retire?" she asked, louder than necessary.

Enjolras could only nod as a sudden yawn overtook him. It seemed he was more tired than he had thought. The three of them made their way through the kitchen and into the moon-bathed courtyard out back. Genevieve gasped and grabbed Enjolras arm in a most improper manner. "Oh, isn't the sky beautiful at night!" she whispered gleefully. "Maman says that the stars are lost friends and family watching us from afar. It's childish I know, but I find it comforting."

While Genevieve babbled on about how beautiful it all was, Vanessa saw the colour drain from Enjolras' face as he raised his eyes to the sky. Stunned by this reaction, she saw that he looked about ready to collapse as he began to shake. "Come along you two," she called from the foot of the stairs with feigned cheer, "I would like to get at least a little sleep before my morning shift."

This snapped the verbose lady out of her ramblings and she released Enjolras' arm. "Sorry," she called back. "I was just enjoying the view." "I was just enjoying the view." She looked pointedly at Enjolras.

It must be pointed out, if only for clarity of the situation, that Genevieve was in no way subtle in her flirting; the result of such pointing awkward to behold. With her tone, she may as well have just pointed a finger directly at him, declaring her adoration to the stars above, this being just how pointed of a look Enjolras was given.

She was making a point.

Such a look sent Enjolras and Vanessa into a state of stillness; Enjolras grateful for the shadows, Vanessa internally groaning in embarrassment for her young friend. It was becoming increasingly clear to Vanessa that Genevieve was going to flirt regardless of her warnings, and there was little helping the subsequent sigh from Vanessa as she gave it up and began to walk away.

As the trio made their way up the stairs, Enjolras did all he could to evade the vivacious blonde below, taking two at a time until he was able to press himself against the doorway of the flat. Having noticed this, Vanessa struggled to hide her smirk as she bid Genevieve goodnight and unlocked the door, her eyes on the poor girl as she sulked away.

When she turned back to the door, Enjolras had already made his way to the centre of the room, glowering at the door as though expecting Genevieve to follow them in.

Surprised by his speed, Vanessa released an almighty laugh as she shut the door. "Oh, Apollo you should see your face!" Smiling broadly, she lit a couple of candles. "I see now why 'Taire used to call you the marble lover of Liberty. You're utterly hopeless with women, worse than I had even thought."

With an affronted huff, Enjolras crossed his arms. "In what way am I hopeless?" he asked, genuinely interested in finding an answer to the question. He had been told plenty of times that he was useless with women, that he would never find a wife. In all honesty he'd never cared that much for the fairer sex, but he would like to know just how he was useless.

"Well, for one thing, you can't even hold a conversation with one."

"I'm holding one with you now, aren't I?"

Vanessa snorted. "That's because I'm not falling at your feet in adoration." She thought for a moment before rephrasing. "Alright, you cannot hold a conversation with any woman who fancies you. Second, you either blush or go drip white whenever a woman touches you."

Another disgruntled sigh.

"And finally," Vanessa continued, "you're scared of most of them."

At this, Enjolras laughed. "I'm not scared of women!" he assured her. "I find most women to be tedious, airheaded things who care about nothing more than looking pretty. What use have I for such a person?"

Raising an unimpressed eyebrow, Vanessa replied calmly, "Indeed, what use are women? All we do is slave away, cooking and cleaning and rearing children while men go about shouting and blustering and telling us what is best for us."

Although Enjolras would hate to admit it, these sudden outbursts of anger from his flatmate scared him a little. But only a little we must hasten to add. Enjolras had never encountered such a creature; a woman who was unafraid to stand on her own two feet with or without a man. It must be noted that Enjolras found such eruptions on par with the ones coming from the men who had surrounded him.

Softly, he began to soothe this sudden temper. "I didn't mean to offend you, I promise, Vanessa. I know full well that you are not like the women I am used to. You are self-assured and smart and understand the world. Clearly you are not an airhead. The world could do with more women like you."

To his surprise, instead of smiling appreciatively like he had hoped she would, Vanessa laughed. "Very clever, flattering me into forgetting that I was ever angry, not for myself, but on behalf of all the women you brush aside as airheaded and pathetic. If only you would look a little deeper into those women, you would see that they are every bit as important in this world as the almighty Enjolras. But first you would have to get past your own ego, you arrogant pig." And with a curt nod and a brief "Goodnight," Vanessa slammed her bedroom door shut behind her, leaving Enjolras alone and confused once again.

It seemed this was becoming a habit.

As quietly as he could, he slunk off to his own room and began to undress. With his borrowed clothes neatly folded on the chair, he climbed into the bed. A bed, his brain decided to point out, that belonged to a dead man. A haggard sigh rattled from his chest.

So much for changing the world.

Thus, a choice was made, he could ruminate on his interactions with Vanessa through the night, or he could sleep. Sleep won and as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was dead to the world.

* * *

Barely two hours had passed before Vanessa woke with a start. A terrifying sound had ripped her from her peaceful slumber. It took her sleep-deprived brain a few lethargic minutes to realise what that sound was, and indeed where it had originated. A piercing scream shattered the silence again making Vanessa wince in agony. There was no doubt in Vanessa's mind where the scream was coming from. She flung back the covers in a panic and leapt from her bed, her feet thudding against the cold wood. She tore open the door and ran to the bedroom two doors down, slamming it open as she burst over the threshold.

Writhing and moaning in the bed, Enjolras was trapped in a nightmare. His handsome face was contorted in pain and anguish as he thrashed his arms against the covers which had tangled themselves around him. Vanessa watched him for a moment, stunned by the pitiful sight before her. Another scream and she jolted into action, running forward to grab both his arms and pin him to the bed; no mean feat for the young, petite woman, yet somehow she managed it and held Enjolras down, whispering soothing words in his ear.

"Shh, Enjolras I'm here. It's alright, it's just a nightmare. You're safe." She repeated this like a mantra; over and over until eventually he began to calm down. His panicked screams dulled to muffled whimpers and his eyes finally fluttered open. He jumped when he saw Vanessa hovering over him, one hand resting on his arm and another carding through his tangled curls.

Shirking away and flushing with embarrassment he mumbled, "I'm really sorry; I didn't mean to wake you."

In spite of herself, Vanessa laughed. "I'm sure no-one means to wake anyone when they have a nightmare." She glanced at his face in the darkness; it was obvious he was terrified. Running a hand through her own tumbling brown locks, she sighed. "Why don't we go have a drink and sit by the fire?" she asked. "I, for one, am frozen sat here."

Enjolras nodded, still refusing to meet her eye. Untangling himself from the covers, he got to his feet and followed Vanessa into the living room. Silently he fell onto the sofa and stared glumly into space as Vanessa stoked the fire and filled the kettle. "Would you like some cocoa?" she asked.

From her position by the stove, Vanessa almost missed the whispered reply.

"Yes please."

Surreptitiously, she turned to watch the young man currently occupying her sofa. His hair was mussed from sleep and his eyes had that certain fear in them, like a rabbit caught in a hunter's sights. Sweat glistened on his forehead and neck and his chest heaved beneath his nightshirt. As he gazed into the distance, Vanessa wondered just what she was supposed to do. Certainly she knew how to handle nightmares; she had struggled with far too many of her own to count and had dealt with the drunken ramblings of Grantaire just as well. But how does one comfort the man of marble?

The kettle behind her whistled away merrily, oblivious to the solemn mood in the room. With a sigh, Vanessa turned and began preparing the cocoa. She thought about the times Grantaire had freed her from the clutches of a nightmare and sat her down, an arm draped casually around her shaking shoulders before saying, "Tell me." After listening quietly to her hitched breathing and stumbling words, he would turn her to look him straight in the eyes – those beautiful, dark eyes – and tell her all the ways in which he loved her, and all the ways he would combat the nightmare.

One particularly terrifying nightmare, Grantaire had peered deep into her eyes and said, "Vanessa, I love you more than the earth. I love you more than my sketchpads and paints. I love you more than life itself. That nightmare is wrong. You have murdered no-one, and I love you. You are not on the streets, and I love you. I would never kick you out, and I love you." Every sentence went like this. "No one shall harm you, and I love you. God has forgiven you, and I love you." Then, still staring into her forest green eyes, he leant forward and placed a tender kiss on her forehead. Then another on her nose, her cheek, her neck, her ear. He didn't stop kissing until he was sure he had covered every inch of her face and neck, and until Vanessa was giggling like a small child.

Vanessa smiled at the memory of that night. What had been the most horrific sleep of her life quickly turned into one of her most treasured memories. With a renewed determination, she turned back to Enjolras. Scooping up the two cups, she marched across the room and flopped onto the sofa beside him, sloshing cocoa everywhere as she fell. The fullest cup was handed to Enjolras with a smile. Tentatively, he took it and held it with both hands, staring into space once again.

After a determined inhale, Vanessa prepared herself in pose and posture, sifting through every word Grantaire had whispered that night in an attempt to piece them together and replicate his eloquence. What was exhaled, however, was nothing short of a train wreck.

She began: "You may be the reason they died, but I—" then fiercely bit her lip shut upon noticing the wince of anguish.

Undeterred, she tried once more: "Listen, they loved you, and they died for you—" then cringed as she realized her mistake, and that she was horrible at this and failing miserably but completely stuck now in the midst of her futile attempts that shutting her mouth now would only make everything worse.

In an attempt to repair, she said: "Many men died, but there is good to be—" then huffed out air through hollow cheeks as her palm met her face, knowing there was no good to be had whatsoever.

With a new tactic, this from her own frustration, she firmly said: "Alright, so they're dead. Yes, it's your fault, but they died for more than you! They died for your revolution! For the betterment—"

"Could you please stop?"

Those four words, uttered in the most pitiful tone, stunned Vanessa into silence. Her mouth abruptly shut as she realised her complete inability to console a man she blamed, as she could not say the words of Grantaire's that had actually pacified her so long ago; it was the addendum to each phrase that had allowed her to breathe. It was the  _I love you_  that had stilled her crippled soul.

Those three words could not be said, therefore, Vanessa was useless.

From the corner of her eye, Vanessa watched his silent contemplation of the cocoa. A long moment passed, and without a thought, without any sort of preparation, Vanessa defaulted to what she probably should have started with.

She asked: "Do you want to talk about it?"

The simple question. No poetry, no eloquence, no love. Yet, it was clean and honest, and Enjolras slowly raised his head, catching her eyes with a lost expression. Wetting his lips nervously, he sniffed.

"I don't know."

"It might help you get back to sleep," Vanessa said self-deprecatingly, her cadence gentle and kind.

As Enjolras opened his mouth, she could see he was ready, and her relief that she'd finally done something right was ineffable.

She watched as his eyes slid closed and a wave of fear passed over his features. "I was on the barricade again," he began, his voice barely audible, "and there were guards after me. I was running through Saint Michel, up to the Musain. But when I got there –" His voice cracked and his eyes flew open. He turned to look at Vanessa, desperate to find someone real. "– The way was blocked by all their bodies. . . ." He drifted into silence now, brushing away tears that spilled down his cheeks.

Already, Vanessa knew who Enjolras meant: the bodies of his fallen brothers. She inhaled deeply and set down her cocoa before gently reaching out to Enjolras. Her hand closed around his fist, her thumb stroking his bone white knuckles. "Enjolras, it's only natural after all you've been through."

A sharp laugh sliced through the air between them as Enjolras pulled his hand from Vanessa's. He rubbed his forehead, suddenly developing an almighty headache. "All I've been through?" he hissed. "You're being much too coy, mademoiselle."

Sighing in frustration, Vanessa ran a hand through her hair. "True, but I do understand what you're going through. Maybe not to the same extent, but . . ." she trailed off, looking down at her hands as she wrung them together.

Meanwhile, Enjolras turned to look at Vanessa with interest. This angelic young woman was not like him, she was no murderer. How could she understand the agony that ripped at his insides? What did she know of guilt?

"It was a long time ago, and I was very young," Vanessa's soft voice sliced through his venomous thoughts. For a moment Enjolras wondered if he had thought them aloud, but realised that Vanessa was paying no attention to him, trapped in a memory as she was. "Our parents had not long since died and we were living on the streets. I was supposed to look after her, but I saw her as such a burden." Tears trickled down her cheeks as she struggled to continue. "I left her in the gutter. My own sister and I left her to die in the gutter."

Watery, emerald lifted to meet reddened sapphires. A moment of shared grief passed between them, and a new understanding created. Then Vanessa looked away and scrubbed at her eyes. "Sorry, I'm supposed to be cheering you up, not making it worse," she whimpered as she tried to laugh.

It failed.

Instead she sobbed just once before lifting her eyes to the ceiling. Her breathing was hitched and shaking as she desperately tried to compose herself. Beside her, Enjolras was unsure of what to do. He just didn't know how to deal with a crying woman, he wasn't all that adept at dealing with women in any capacity, but he tried. Nervously, he reached out to place a gentle hand on her shoulder, but thought better of it. It was simply too awkward.

Eventually, Vanessa managed to calm herself and rested her head against the sofa. Her cocoa had long since gone cold and remained untouched all night. Enjolras glanced over at her and frowned, she really did look exhausted. Her eyes were red from crying and circled with dark purple. "You should get some sleep," he said.

Jolted awake by his voice, Vanessa turned to look at him. "I'm fine," she assured him. Her efforts were ruined as she yawned. At Enjolras' skeptical look, Vanessa sighed. "Fine, I'm going to bed. But so should you."

Enjolras nodded absently, he knew full well that even if he went to bed, he wouldn't sleep, not after such a nightmare as this one. It had been a few days since the last; this should have been expected. "I'll just finish my cocoa," he supplied half-heartedly. Vanessa didn't appear satisfied with this answer but eventually sighed in frustration and headed off to her room. With a soft click the door shut and Enjolras was left alone to his fears once again. The dying embers of the fire sent long flickering shadows dancing across the room and along with the soothing crackle of burning wood, sent Enjolras into his first dreamless sleep in months.


	5. Avenging Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Attempted rape.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Les Miserables.
> 
> Everybody got a torch/flashlight depending on your idiolect? Good. Here we go and I'll see you on the other side.

Night turned to day, days turned to weeks, and Enjolras quickly became a permanent fixture in the Café Liberté. This had a number of consequences for the little café. First, there seemed to be a sudden influx of women customers. Second, the amount of men coming to the café increased two fold. Third, Vanessa had a much heavier work load and therefore was constantly rushed off her feet. All of this meaning she had very little time left between working and eating and sleeping to notice Enjolras, let alone hate him.

All of this because one very handsome, mysterious young man had taken up residence in the darkest corner of the café. Not that Enjolras either knew or cared; he was unconscious of the apparent crowd gathering in the Liberté each evening. His days were spent between the café and the flat upstairs, and his mission in life seemed to be evading a certain enthusiastic blonde admirer. Genevieve was ruthless in her flirting and seemed to know where he was going to be even before he did. Often, Enjolras would find his way blocked by the rather effervescent blonde. This unwanted attention only angered Vanessa all the more. She knew how naïve her young friend was, and didn't want to see her get hurt. And she had told Enjolras as much. Enjolras had looked aghast at the very idea. Sincerity burned in his azure eyes. "I would never do anything to hurt her, I promise."

While she was by no means satisfied, Vanessa had let the subject drop. During the few weeks they had been living together, Enjolras had learned quite a lot about his flat mate. He had learnt that she was a ferocious debater and could have argued as well as any of his former lieutenants. He learnt that she was fiercely protective of her friends. He learnt that she was reasonably tidy and constantly exhausted.

However, Vanessa also learned more about Enjolras than she had ever expected. She learnt that Enjolras had terrible nightmares almost every night. She learnt that he had all but given up on his revolution. She learnt that the man living with her was a mere shell of his former self. And that was on a good day. On a bad day she could barely get a word out of him. After a couple of exhausting weeks she came to the decision that living with Enjolras was even harder than living with Grantaire.

If that were possible.

Since the night Vanessa had shared her own nightmares with him, she had been woken every night by his screams. Most days, on returning home she would find him in much the same position as she had when she left him. Some days it would take her ages to find him, and when she did, he would be standing on any abandoned street. If it were possible, the cost of food went down in the little flat, as Enjolras ate barely anything. Where Vanessa had been able to coax Grantaire into eating something at least, Enjolras would simply turn his nose up and shove the plate away. One thing, however, made Enjolras a godsend for Vanessa. He was so tidy! Never did she have to pick up his clothes; never would she come home to half empty bottles strewn around. His clothes were always folded away and when he did eat, he washed the plate himself. As far as flatmates go, he wasn't too bad.

However, Enjolras proved to be a guardian angel one warm summer night.

Vanessa was down in the café closing up for the night. A gentle song played on her lips as she swept and mopped and wiped. Her frenetic quickstep had calmed to a gentle waltz as she meandered between the tables. As far as evening shifts went, things had been pretty calm. Other than a couple of rather rowdy customers that had narrowly escaped a black eye, there hadn't been anyone specifically catching Vanessa's attention. A clattering in the kitchen stopped her in her tracks, followed by a cry of surprise. "Enjolras?"

"Yes, sorry," he called back. "I'll pick these up."

Chuckling as she leaned on her broom, Vanessa asked, "What are you doing in there?"

More clanging."I was looking for food."

Amusement graced Vanessa's face. "We have food upstairs you know," she said, smiling.

A loud crash as more pots and pans fell to the ground. "Yes, I know," Enjolras ground out. "But I'm not upstairs. I'm here. You could come and help you know!"

Vanessa wandered over to the door and peered inside the dimly lit kitchen. The sight she was greeted with was rather spectacular. The cupboards were overflowing with copper pots that spilled out onto the floor dotted here and there with tin mugs. An impish grin tugged at the corners of Vanessa's mouth. "Seems like you've got yourself quite a mess there, monsieur." She paused for a moment, only proceeding when Enjolras raised an impatient eyebrow. "Have fun cleaning it up."

With a click of her heels, she spun and walked away, leaving Enjolras to sort the chaos himself. A frustrated huff followed her out of the room, and she grinned all the more.

Her grin soon vanished.

A giant of a man filled the doorframe; he seemed to be as tall as he was wide. Shrouded in shadow, the giant took a step into the café. "Monsieur, we're closed," Vanessa said, her voice thankfully not betraying her fear.

Sharp, menacing eyes found her in an instant. "Not for me you ain't," growled the shadowy figure.

"I'm sorry, but I can't serve you now," Vanessa shrugged, nonchalance giving her strength and allaying her terror. Not daring to turn her back on this sinister creature, she began to take a step backwards. Her foot hit a creaky board and the sound of groaning wood filled the silent room.

The huge man stepped forward into the room, at last moving into the light. Now, Vanessa could finally see his face. Dark, menacing eyes sunk deep into sunburned skin, a crooked nose that told endless stories of drunken brawls, a leering smile. Realisation hit like a punch in the stomach; she had seen this man before. He worked at the docks and was usually surrounded by a rather unsavoury group of acquaintances. But Vanessa had seen him more recently wandering the streets near the market, and in the café itself. In fact, just tonight she had clashed with him when he decided it was fine to slap her backside.

Swaggering to the table in the centre of the café, the vile man sat down, perfectly at ease. "Bring me a drink," he ordered, and it was done with a cocky raise of both hands as though he owned the place and had every right to be served as a king, despite the fact that the café had long since closed and he was the only man in the room.

Swallowing nervously, Vanessa raised her chin defiantly, as she was well practised in the art of dealing with drunks. "We are closed," she said firmly, in a tone that would warn any other man that she was not to be messed with.

However, this was not any other man.

With a speed that seemed unnatural, the giant snapped to his feet and slammed the side of his fist on the table. Vanessa winced at the sound, swallowing heavily, jumping back, and he relished in the view of such a lovely, fragile, frightened young woman. "I said," he hissed through his teeth, then bellowed, "get me a drink, whore!"

The fear was there. So present, Vanessa felt it larger than her being, so great it seemed to pulse from her skin. A series of blinks began. The first, a fluttering of fear and surprise as she tried to come to terms with her fear. The second; one tight squeeze as she tried to come to terms with this being real. The third, however, was slow. Simple. Lethargic. And it was accompanied by the curving her of lips, as a serene calm permeated her. The pulsation of fear stopped, sucked back inside of her, and a black hole was created in its absence.

There are times fear so great that it can do nothing more than feed upon itself, and as a woman afraid can lift the heaviest of objects off a child with inhuman strength, thus became Vanessa. She suddenly felt larger than this ogre as she said, "I'm afraid you'll have to return tomorrow." She said, "As I've told you, we are closed," and it was firm, while flippant, while crazed.

The monstrosity sneered. "I'm not going anywhere, little woman."

"Ha!" Vanessa cried. It seemed she was unable to stop herself, as this loud burst turned into a gleeful chuckle that transitioned into words. "Woman? Is that supposed to be an insult?" Though terrified, this fear was morphing once more, and this time it had turned to anger. Who did this man think he was to order her about like a skivvy? She might well be a barmaid, but that gave him no right. This was not his café, she was not his employee and he was no king.

Be that as it may, any pretence of confidence Vanessa had was squashed when the colossus lunged forward and grabbed for her throat. A scream ripped through the air as he shoved her back onto the table. The edge was dull from years of use, but it burrowed into her spine and the pain of it flooded her vision with red.

Wide eyed and terror-stricken, there was nothing Vanessa could do as he pressed her further into the table. Now that he had her pinned, a cruel smile crept across the monstrous man's face. "Come to think of it," he said, his voice low and drawling, "I don't think I'll have that drink now." His hand came down to caress her flushed cheek. Oh, how he loved to see the effect he had on this woman. He licked his lips, her fear fuelling his desire.

No.

With a sudden surge of rage Vanessa screamed. "Get off me!" Her hand soared through the air to slap the monster across the cheek.

But her hand never reached his face; instead, her wrist was caught in a crushing, vice-like grip. Panic rose in her throat as he slammed her back into the table. A rumbling chuckle cut through the sudden silence. "Feisty little whore aren't you?" the brute whispered in her ear. Slowly, he forced both her wrists up behind her head and held them there. "I'm going to enjoy you." A hand began groping its way up her leg, hitching up her skirts as it went. She felt sick.

Then there was light. Then there was salvation, as from the kitchen, the face of an angel appeared.

Enjolras stood in the doorway, horror filling his stormy blue eyes. For a moment, their eyes locked and all fear melted away. All at once, Vanessa felt her terror vanish. All at once, Enjolras knew what he must do.

It seemed that the beast was too enraptured in Vanessa's skirts to notice the silent creature behind him. Had he seen the blond hero, he would have laughed. Enjolras was barely than half his size, both in width and height, and had none of the muscles the brute had. However, what Enjolras did have over the giant was surprise.

With one last glance in Vanessa's direction, Enjolras set to work. Keeping one eye on the brute's progress, he crept across the room to the stool, bent down until his hand wrapped around the leg. Feeling Vanessa's eyes on him, he looked up and gave her a small terrible smile.

Everything happened with frightening pace so that one could not be sure which happened particularly first. Possibly, Enjolras lunged across the space between them and brought the wooden seat of the chair crashing into the giant's back. Or maybe it was Vanessa who moved first, bringing her knees up and smashing into the rock hard stomach of the brute. It could have been the huge man, however, who upon hearing a floorboard creak behind him, whirled around with surprising speed.

Of one thing we can be sure: the following two things happened simultaneously. Vanessa's knees collided with an area of flesh on the man's side, approximately where one might find the right kidney. In perfect synchronisation, the stool Enjolras was holding finally found its final destination on the giant's shoulder. The harmony of these movements was breath-taking.

The giant let out an almighty bellow, a cry of pain that shook the building and nearly deafened Enjolras. Realising he had most definitely been seen, he began to stagger backwards. His progress was halted, however, when a colossal fist slammed into his cheek and knocked him off balance. A blow such as that would have knocked a lesser man unconscious, or at least to the ground. But not Enjolras. With the grace of a cat, he righted himself. For a second, he thought he might fall, but with a well placed sidestep, he regained his balance.

And ducked.

Threw out an arm to steady himself. Leapt to his feet. Dodged a swinging backhander. Swept a foot at the giant's knee. Caught him with an elbow. Grabbing Vanessa by the wrist, he wrenched her from the table, pitching her across the room and she sailed into another table without knowing what had happened to her, for the propelled motion had the velocity to blur her vision and, planted once more on the edge of a table, she could feel the acute pain of it all. Sharp needles. Blood pooling beneath her skin. Tears forming.

Enjolras first grinned at his own strength.

Then balked as he realised what he had done.

Taking advantage of this pause, the giant wrapped a meaty hand around Enjolras' pale neck and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, then snarled. "You shouldn't get involved in other people's business, pretty boy," he hissed.

Leading with his shoulder while hunkered down, in one swift motion, the wall of a man met the wall in his way, folding it in half at the waist. The woman's champion was light as a feather and easily slammed atop a table.

Enjolras felt his breath abandon him and battled against the pressure on his chest for air. Panic began to set in as he realised he was losing his struggle, and with panic came the futile writhing and kicking. Amongst these failing attacks, one punch made a fluke hit, landing squarely on the ugly nose of the beast. The thunderous man fell inelegantly to the floor, his hold on Enjolras' neck and chest loosened just enough that Enjolras could take a ragged gasp.

While the giant had been distracted with Enjolras, Vanessa stumbled over to the bar using the sound of battle for cover, snatched up a bottle and began making her way silently back across the room. As she stood behind the huge man, she caught a glimpse of her saviour over his shoulder. What she saw only added to her strength as she brought the bottle crashing down onto the skull of her attacker. There was no fear in Enjolras' face, only a sort of instinctual panic. She imagined that if she had been able to see herself under those vile hands, she would have seen the same panic on her own face.

The bottle shattered into a million pieces, sending tiny shards of green glass flying through the air, showering both the beast and Enjolras in glittering specks, and the giant crumpled to the floor with a thud, amber liquid mingling with his blood as it trickled down his neck. Below Vanessa was the heap of a man on the ground before her. Above her, Enjolras. She stared at them in horror.

Just stared.

Waited for him to breathe.

A hacking, agonising cough ripped from Enjolras' throat, he felt as though he was breathing fire, not air. For a long while, neither spoke, the only sound painful hacking as Enjolras fought once again to regain control of his battered windpipe. A hand slammed into the table as he snapped forward, doubling over as his legs gave out beneath him. With each wrenching cough he felt himself losing his tenuous grip on consciousness, each cough sending unbearable agony coursing through his chest, each cough blinding him with stars exploding before his eyes. His fingers curled up as his body convulsed with searing pain.

Through the torture he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, and a voice, soft and warm. "Just breathe, Enjolras." In less painful circumstances, he might have laughed. Breathe? That was the crux of the matter, he couldn't breathe. "Enjolras, listen to my voice. Calm yourself down, follow my breathing." In a pain induced haze, Enjolras wondered for a moment, he knew that voice . . . he was sure of it. Was it an angel? It was a cruel joke to save him from the barricade only to let him die here. He had so much still to do. The revelation hit him just as he took his last hitching gasp.

He still had work to do.

A weak smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. He wasn't going to die here. Eventually his breathing evened from rough pants to slow, controlled breaths. The fog cleared from his air deprived mind and he looked up for the first time. Kneeling next to him, Vanessa looked on with bloodshot eyes. With a sob of relief, Vanessa pulled him into a tight embrace. Enjolras hissed in pain as she crushed his already injured ribs, and she jolted away. "I'm sorry!" she cried, still holding his shoulder as though afraid he would disappear.

Shaking his head slowly, Enjolras replied, "It's fine." The rasping, muted sound of his voice surprised him. He noticed that his eyes were overflowing with tears, though it must be expected when one is coughing up one's lungs. Scrubbing at his face, he took a deep breath. Air had never tasted sweeter. Then his eyes fell on the mass of man behind Vanessa. "We need to get that out of here," he said quietly.

As though waking from a dream, Vanessa slowly turned to look at the giant. Her voice was a whisper. "Yes."

Gingerly, Enjolras pulled himself to his feet and grabbed a trunk-like ankle. The beast stirred, but before he got any further, Enjolras' foot collided vehemently with his skull. Not another sound was heard from the giant for some time. For a terrible second, Vanessa wasn't sure who scared her more, the fallen mountain at their feet, or the avenging angel before her. Golden hair that shone in the candle light, deep, tempestuous blue eyes that burned with ferocity, beneath those, a smear of crimson as blood trickled down his cheek. Truly, here was a man worthy of fear.

With one last concerned glance at Vanessa, the almighty angel began to remove the man who had changed their relationship forever.


	6. A Loyal Citizen's Vow

After the commotion of war comes silence. Vanessa hadn't uttered one word since Enjolras had disappeared with the giant in tow. Instead, she sat hunched in a corner, hugging her knees to her chest. Silence roared in her ears. It was as though the world was holding its breath, waiting to hear her broken, frenzied sobs.

Silent.

After the energy of war comes stillness. Vanessa hadn't seen one person since Enjolras had melted into the night. Instead, she curled up on the ground, resting her chin on her forearms. Stillness clouded her eyes. It was as though the world had stopped to stare, waiting to see her fall apart.

Still.

After the passion of war comes emptiness. Vanessa hadn't felt anything since Enjolras had abandoned her to her thoughts. Instead, she leaned against the wall, making her body as small as possible. Emptiness darkened her mind. It was as though the world was picking through her thoughts, waiting to throw them all upon her at once.

Empty.

She could hear nothing, see nothing, feel nothing. Somewhere in the fog of her mind, she pondered over whether she had done this to herself, stripped herself of her senses to distance herself from reality. She just wanted to forget everything, leave the world waiting for its meltdown and vanish into the night like her saviour had done.

However, Vanessa knew she would never be able to forget. It would be impossible for her to forget those hands roaming her body, making her skin crawl. Impossible to forget that voice, burned forever into her memory; cloying and cold, like walking through a midnight mist by the river.

With a long, drawn out and ragged breath, she banished the silence. Closing her eyes; she tried to stave off the stillness. Nails dug into her palm in a desperate attempt to feel anything. And like with all dams, it takes no more than a crack to bring the floodwaters rushing through. A sob burst from her lips and was followed by a torrent of emotions whirling around her. True terror made itself known and gripped her heart in its icy grasp. Fury raced through her mind, leaving burns and scolds in its wake. But, loudest of all, guilt ripped at her insides, screaming for attention. Hot tears coursed tracks down her face, glistening in her eyes and shining as they poured down her cheeks.

Burying her head in her arms, Vanessa cried. She let the tears fall and made no attempt to temper her feelings. Months worth of emotions bombarded her with fresh agony, making her bruised hip pale into insignificance.

It was in this state that Enjolras found her some ten minutes later.

Once they had been sure that the giant was out cold, Enjolras had dragged him out onto the streets. It hadn't taken much to persuade Vanessa to lock the doors and give Enjolras his own key for the courtyard out back. Anything to stop people like that monster coming back. Then once he was sure she was safe, Enjolras had dragged the unconscious mountain of man along the streets of Paris to the nearest police station. Whereupon he tied his burden to a lamppost and wrote a note for the police to find. When a returning officer walked past later, he was delighted. Such a well known criminal amongst police would make a lovely addition to their cells. The note, pinned to the brute's lapel, was soon mounted on the wall of the Chief Inspector's office in celebration. It read like this:

_To Whom It May Concern:_

_I assume you will be able to handle this baggage for me. I caught this man trying to rape a good woman and intervened. I would be grateful if you could keep this garbage off the streets of our dear city as long as possible._

_Yours, A Loyal Citizen_

After he was sure the vile man had been taken care of by the police, Enjolras began the short journey back to the café. He stormed along the silent streets. The adrenaline of the fight had long since abandoned him and now the pain of his injuries came back with a vengeance. A strange buzzing in his ears made him fear concussion, but he couldn't let that distract him. Short, stilted breaths jarred at his ribs and every step made him wince slightly. Yet, he still stood tall and strong; in his eyes blazed a raging blue flame. Had there been another soul on the streets that night, they might well have believed him to be an angel from God.

But as he stood before his own angel, the rage melted from his eyes and his features softened. Wetting his lips nervously, he knelt down in front of the sobbing woman. He reached out a gentle hand and lightly touched her shoulder. In a panic, Vanessa jerked away from him. A feral terror overtook her and she lunged for the perceived threat. Instinct had taken over and Enjolras was powerless to stop it. "Vanessa, it's me!" he cried as she held him down by the throat, her knee crushing his already agonising ribcage.

His voice snapped something within her and the scales of horror fell from her eyes. With a gasp, she released her grip and pushed herself away from him, returning to her previous position against the wall. Sighing heavily, Enjolras collapsed down beside her and closed his eyes. He took a couple of deep breaths to combat the sudden nauseating sensation fighting for his total attention. When he finally reopened his eyes, he saw Vanessa staring at him.

Silently, he raised an eyebrow. "You're bleeding," she explained, pointing to his cheek.

Pain suddenly flared up as he remembered his possibly broken cheekbone. His hand brushed his cheek and was instantly smeared red with blood. "So it would seem," he replied.

Vanessa frowned. "You're slurring your words. Did you bang your head?" she asked. The reply Enjolras made was noncommittal, but his drooping eyelids and furrowed brow seemed answer enough.

Inhaling deeply, Vanessa decided to focus her mind on what was in front of her. Slowly, she rose to her feet and turned to Enjolras. Whose eyes had drifted shut. "Enjolras!"

His eyes snapped open and he groaned. "Please don't talk so loud," he murmured.

"We should go upstairs," Vanessa said in a quieter tone.

Apparently Enjolras agreed. Gingerly, and with great difficulty, he climbed to his feet. However, as he rose, the room began to spin around him and he threw his hand out to catch something to help him balance. Unfortunately, that something happened to be Vanessa. She yanked herself from his reach and froze. Suddenly, Enjolras had a moment of clarity from the haze in his head. "Vanessa, I –" he realised he had no idea what to say, nothing could comfort her, nothing that he could do at least.

Shaking her head, Vanessa filled the silence. "It's fine. I'll be fine, I just –" The words caught in her throat. She coughed and continued. "– I didn't think I would ever have to go through that again."

Enjolras looked at her aghast. _Again?_ Suddenly her standoffish behaviour didn't seem so confusing.

Nodding infinitesimally, Vanessa looked down at the floor and wiped at her tear filled eyes. She turned away and headed out through the kitchen. Not wanting to drag up memories that would only hurt her more, Enjolras followed silently.

The pair remained silent until they were securely within the confines of their own flat. Vanessa locked and bolted the door behind them. Meanwhile, Enjolras had flopped down into one of the chairs and was massaging his temples. A small box placed in front of him made him jump. "Bandages," Vanessa explained, "and some medical spirits I had to hide from Grantaire." Taking the seat in front of Enjolras, she prepared a rag to clean away the blood marring Enjolras' perfect face.

It wasn't long before Enjolras managed to lure a laugh out of Vanessa. Granted it was lured out by accident, but it was a laugh, and it lightened both their hearts. Enjolras hissed each time Vanessa brought the rag close to the cut on his cheek. "What are you, a cat?" she chuckled.

"It hurts," Enjolras grumbled in reply. He winced as she pressed the alcohol drenched rag to the wound.

"What happened to the fearless marble man?"

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "Believe it or not, mademoiselle, I'm not actually made of stone."

Slowly, and with an impish grin, Vanessa reached forward and poked him in the shoulder. "Huh. . . . Apparently so." A wry smile passed over her face. Glancing up at the golden Apollo before her, she realised that his face had turned ashen. "Are you alright?" she asked.

A slow shake of his head told her all she needed to know. One arm was wrapped protectively around his chest and the other was clutching his throbbing head. "Take your shirt off," she ordered as she rushed to the sink and doused a cloth in cold water.

Behind her, Enjolras froze. Allowing this young woman to tend to his cut didn't bother him after all he had been through, but he was nothing if not proper. "It's fine, honestly I'll be fine."

Hand on hip, raised eyebrow, Vanessa turned and gave him the skeptical glower he was so used to. "Shirt. Off. Now."

Slowly, his face flushing with embarrassment, he began to remove his shirt. His eyes were glued to the table in front of him as he heard the shocked gasp.

The small smile on Vanessa's face vanished. She knew Enjolras had been badly injured on the barricade, she knew that after the night's trouble he would be sporting a few bruises. But the sight before her was nothing like she had imagined.

Her eyes instantly found the dark, mottled handprint blossoming around his throat. And as her eyes travelled down his chest, she felt bile rise in her throat. She could spy at least eight separate healing wounds across his torso, one just above his heart looking much too close to be safe. On his left shoulder the skin was puckered and tight around a deep red line. Down the centre of his chest a painful looking purple bruise. Knowing exactly what Vanessa would be staring at; Enjolras hugged his arms over his chest and bit his lower lip. Beneath his arms, Vanessa spotted another ugly looking scar that made her breath hitch.

Finally, Vanessa found her voice again. "Are those from the . . ."

"Yes."

Nodding her understanding, Vanessa said no more about it. Instead, she picked up the bandages and pulled up a chair in front of Enjolras. "Can you lift your arms, please," she said quietly.

Slowly, and wincing as he did, Enjolras raised his arms. Vanessa shot him a concerned glance as she gently held the bandage against his injured ribs and began to unwind it. As she wrapped the white cloth around his back, she noticed another bruise forming. Across his lower back, at about table height, an angry red line. The bandage grazed against the bruise and Enjolras all but leapt out of his chair, his back arched as he yelped in pain.

His sudden outburst made Vanessa jolt away; the bandages fell from her hand with a soft thump.

It was Enjolras' turn to look concerned, his fever bright eyes softened as they fell upon her. "Sorry," he muttered, "I didn't mean to scare you."

Vanessa shook her head. "It's fine. My fault really." Glancing at her hand, she realised that it was empty. A frown creased her brow as she followed the white line of bandage from Enjolras' chest to the floor. She dipped down and grabbed the discarded roll before returning to her task. Careful to avoid the still deepening bruise on Enjolras' back, she finished binding his ribs and helped him back into his shirt. Then, as she rose, she noticed Enjolras' eyes beginning to drift closed.

"Hey," she said, a little louder than maybe necessary.

Feverish azures shot open to glare at her. "What?" he hissed reaching up to rub his eyes again.

"You have to stay awake."

A frown darkened his features. "Don't want to," he mumbled.

Smiling at the childlike behaviour, Vanessa replied, "Well, you have to. I'm not letting you slip into a coma on me."

Huffing and resting his chin on his hand, Enjolras watched as Vanessa busied herself making them drinks. She rattled around the kitchen, oblivious to the spectator behind her. Eventually, Enjolras asked the question Vanessa had been avoiding.

"Are you all right?"

Cringing away from the question and closing her eyes, Vanessa sniffed. Unable to answer, she ran a hand through her hair, which had long since fallen from its pins and curled gently around her shoulders. Inhaling deeply, she turned back to Enjolras. "I'm fine," she lied.

A raised eyebrow told her Enjolras didn't believe her. Sighing in defeat, she sank into the chair opposite him. "Alright, I'm not fine. Of course I'm not fine!" She almost laughed. "I feel –" her voice cracked "– I feel violated." Her eyes filled with tears again as she traced the grain of the table with her finger.

Enjolras frowned; he had no idea what to say to this impossible woman. After all she had done, she still seemed to be reasonably calm. However, beneath the cracking mask was a terrified young lady. "Vanessa," he began, his voice gentle and quiet. "I know that there is no way I can be the man you need right now. I know that I pale into insignificance compared to Grantaire. I know you hate me." He stopped, allowing a moment for his words to sink in. "But if you'll let me, I want to help you. I want to make you smile again. I want – no, I need to repay you for everything you've done for me. I know I'll never be able to make up for what I've done to you, but I will do all I can. I promise . . . I vow: I will never let anyone hurt you, ever again."

A long silence followed and neither dared look at the other.

Finally, Vanessa raised her eyes to the man across from her. In the dim candle light, his golden hair seemed to glow warm fiery amber. His face was thrown into shadows, so that she could only see half of his handsome profile clearly. Tentative at first, Vanessa reached out and took his hand in her own. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she whispered, "Thank you."

His fingers closed around hers and squeezed gently – the first truly intimate show of emotion Enjolras had ever shown – before pulling his hand away and massaging his still aching temple. Uneasy, Vanessa watched as his face contorted in pain. Her eyes fell on the damp cloth she had prepared earlier. "Here, sit back and put this on your forehead. Try to stay awake for me, I think you have concussion."

Taking the cloth, Enjolras leaned back in his chair and sighed as the rag cooled his brow. Through half-closed eyes, he regarded the shaken brunette before him. His head was spinning, and yet he still fought to keep his tenuous grip on consciousness. "Vanessa," he mumbled, "my head really hurts."

Surprised, Vanessa looked up at the pathetic creature before her. Inhaling deeply, she rose to her feet and took his hand in hers. "Enjolras, let's go sit on the sofa at least. But please, try not to fall asleep." Her arm slipped around his chest as she helped him to his feet, then the slow progress across to the small threadbare sofa.

Taking as much care as possible, Vanessa eased Enjolras onto the couch and flopped down beside him. Instinctively her hand reached out and brushed against the back of his neck. He flinched at her touch, but as she began kneading the base of his skull he relaxed. "Why are you doing this?" he asked.

"I promised I would take care of you, I'm fulfilling my promise," Vanessa replied.

She turned to look at the exhausted angel beside her, and smiled in spite of herself. Resting his head against her hand, breathing shallowly, he had fallen asleep. A low chuckle escaped Vanessa's lips as she slipped her hand out from behind his neck. As she curled up on the sofa, a single tear trickled down her cheek. Her resolve was cracking; she could no longer hate the angel who had tried so hard to save her. She couldn't loathe the man who needed her as much as she needed him.

And she did need him now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, I am utterly terrible at updating this. Which is ridiculous seeing as I'm more than half way through writing the entire story. Anyway, I've done it now.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this: my first foray into the Les Mis fandom on AO3. I'll try to update this story every couple of weeks. Until next time,  
> PB.


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